<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Of Butterflies and Bones by bigsadenergy</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228220">Of Butterflies and Bones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsadenergy/pseuds/bigsadenergy'>bigsadenergy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Native American Character(s), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Slow Romance, Slow To Update</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:28:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsadenergy/pseuds/bigsadenergy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Winona Hunt has sworn a lot of things to herself that didn't work out the way she wanted. Winona, the Gravedigger, always buried the gangs dead. It wasn’t that she was particularly good at digging graves, it was just that she always offered. She always offered because she gave each of their fallen comrades a respect she wasn’t sure anyone else would. After Blackwater, she swore she wouldn't bury any more of her friends. She doesn't know how long that one will keep.<br/>A year ago, Winona also swore she'd never fall in love with a man again. The problem is, Charles Smith isn't like any man she's ever known, and he's a very stark contrast to the man who prompted that promise in the first place. He's quiet and sweet and kind and gentle. She desperately wants to let go of the past and move on, but the past isn't ready to let go of her just yet.<br/>Charles didn't know people like Winona existed, and maybe that's because Winona is in a league of her own. She makes him want to settle down and she also makes him absolutely crazy.<br/>Their lives are chaos and everything is changing faster than they can process. But can Charles help Winona let go of the past before its too late?</p><p>*This is being rewritten*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption)/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Gravedigger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>haha im obsessed with charles so here we are. I'll update as much as I can but my attention span is shit so it'll be pretty sporadic. sorry folks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Desperation. That’s the only word to describe the mad dash into the mountains after Blackwater. To call what happened in Blackwater a fiasco was an understatement-and-a-half. It was a disaster, a catastrophe, and Winona was scared. They were all scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Davey isn’t going to last much longer,” she muttered to Abigail, hearing the shake in her voice. “We need to find shelter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona wasn’t really a doctor. She had about as much skill as anyone else, she just had a tendency to take charge when everyone else was panicking. As such, the gang's medical needs often ended up being split between her and Grimshaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell Hosea,” Abigail whispered back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no real reason to whisper, but it felt like the thing to do anyway. Winona pulled her scarf tighter over her face. The wind was biting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desperation. That’s what she felt right now. That’s what she had been feeling for months, years maybe. She had believed the time for desperation was over for her, but here they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davey would die. Winona couldn’t see a way around it. The weather was too bad, the cold too fierce, his injuries too severe, and their medical supplies too low. All she could do for him was ease his pain until he passed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona hadn’t been able to save Jenny either. She had tried, but there hadn’t been anything she could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one else,” she whispered to herself. “No one else is going to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She caught a glimpse of Hosea and Dutch talking, and Arthur up ahead. Hopefully, he found somewhere safe for them to wait out the storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her shaky hands reached for Davey’s. He was barely conscious and not very lucid, but all she could really do was offer some comfort for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be alright,” Charles said, almost reflexively. He was sitting across from her in the cart, huddled into himself trying to keep warm. “Davey’ll be alright, won’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona shook her head. She felt tears in her eyes. Davey wouldn’t be alright. Davey and she hadn’t been close, but he was family, just like anyone else in the gang. They drank together, they rode together, they lived and died by their trust in each other. She had failed to save him just as she failed to save Jenny. And now she would bury him somewhere behind some camp they stayed at to be forgotten by the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona always buried the dead. It wasn’t that she was particularly good at digging graves, it was just that she always offered. She always offered because she gave each of their fallen comrades a respect she wasn’t sure anyone else would. Lenny had helped her with Jenny’s grave and they’d laid flowers there for her. But more often than not, she did it alone. She dug their grave, buried them, and carved their name into a bit of wood so someone would remember them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davey’s would be the last grave she’d dig. She had to protect her family. She’d spent a year alone, away from them, and she found she just wasn’t suited for a life alone. She was a loner by nature but this gang was the only family she’d ever known and she had no intention of giving it up. None of them would die. She would not allow it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your hand?” Winona didn’t want to talk about Davey, didn’t want to think about him, even as she held his clammy hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be fine,” Charles shrugged. “Stupid mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all make mistakes. Remind me to look at it when we stop. I’ve got a salve buried in my things that might relieve some of the pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Charles smiled at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles was different from all the rest. When she returned to the fold, he’d still been new to the gang. There had never been another person with native blood in the gang before, and Winona, though she’d never admit it to anyone, had been excited to meet someone who shared her ancestry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t very talkative. Winona wasn’t either. It was days before they exchanged any real words. Mostly, she watched him make arrows and he watched her weave beads onto chords the way her mother taught her when she was young. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they did talk, it wasn’t about their ancestry at all, but rather about jobs and rumors and “what the hell does Karen think she’s doing right now?” Winona supposed she didn’t mind it. Talking about her ancestry would mean talking about what happened to her tribe, and, by extension, to her and her mother. These were things only a select few members of the gang knew, and most of them didn’t know the story in any detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The caravan came to a stop in what looked like an abandoned mining town. The first priority was getting Davey somewhere warmer. Winona was pretty sure he wouldn't live through the night. She’d stay with him until he did go. That was all she could really do for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they were inside, Abigail and Winona stood over Davey. His breathing had stopped. Abigail brought a hand over his mouth, trying to feel something. There was nothing. Winona slumped against the nearest wall. She had expected it but it still stung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Davey’s dead,” Abigail said, calmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona summoned her strength and dug a pair of nickels out of her pocket to weight down his eyelids when rigor mortis set in. Hopefully, he’d be in the ground before that happened but it was hard to say when she’d be able to bury him. It was snowing too hard right now. The ground would probably be too frozen, even if she didn’t have to get through three feet of snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch and Arthur left and Grimshaw and Pearson began to turn the little ghost town into a camp. Winona helped as best she could by checking to make sure that nothing, such as a hungry animal looking for shelter from the blizzard, was hiding out in any of the buildings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once that was done, Winona went back to the main cabin and sat near Davey’s body. She’d have to figure out a way to bury him before he began to stink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles came in and sat beside her. Neither said anything for a long while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to look at your hand?” Winona asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s no trouble,” Charles smiled softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t. I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her pack was in another cabin with the rest of the women. She had a lot of jars full of herbal substances that she used to help with various injuries and illnesses. It took a bit of searching to find the specific one she wanted. She grabbed some fresher bandages as well. Charles probably hadn’t changed it much during their desperate escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she got back, she tugged the glove off of Charles’ hand. He winced. Taking the bandage off was easier for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This salve will soothe it,” Winona tried her best to speak softly. “It smells like shit, but it helps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could tell it was painful when she rubbed the substance onto the palm of his hand. He was trying his best to keep still, and doing a fairly admirable job of it, too, but his normally stony face was twisted into a slight grimace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a week, you’ll be right as rain,” she smiled and gingerly rewrapped it with fresh bandages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Charles flexed his fingers a few times. “We’ll need food sooner than that, though. I don’t think I can pull a bowstring right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone else can handle the hunting, then.” Charles took on the responsibility of finding food more than anyone else, but he wasn’t the only one capable of it. “Besides, if it makes you feel better, it took me a hell of a lot longer than a week to be able to pull a bowstring again after my shoulder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well your muscle had to heal and gain its strength again. Not really the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still. We’ll find a way to survive. We always do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles looked sadly at Davey’s corpse, now covered with a blanket. “Not all of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s the last one,” Winona gritted her teeth, her voice lowering. “I swear to god, I will not bury any more of our friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles said nothing. Winona stood, finding a shovel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to bury Davey right now?” Charles gave her a strange look that she’d never seen on him before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know when there’ll be a good chance. It won’t take long for him to start stinkin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s still nasty outside and it’s late. You should rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right. She didn’t know why it felt so urgent. Maybe there was some need to put everything that happened in Blackwater in the ground alongside him. “Yeah, okay. Soon as the snow stops, I gotta do it, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles nodded. He watched her put the shovel down and head for the Cabin Grimshaw put her and the girls in. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to sleep but she’d try. Her body felt too awake, even though she’d hardly slept since Blackwater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She replayed the events in her mind. She barely even remembered her desperate ride from town to the camp. She could recall bullets flying past her but all she knew was that she needed to warn everyone still at camp, to tell them to pack up because they were leaving immediately. She still didn’t know exactly what went wrong, but she remembered Dutch shooting that woman. She had never seen him lose his cool like that and it scared her more than any other detail of the disaster. Jobs go wrong all the time, even the big ones, but what happened at Blackwater was a massacre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karen was nursing a bottle of something when Winona came in, but the other girls were asleep. She took off her gloves and wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tried,” Karen smiled at her. She had to be talking about Davey. “I know you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona didn’t respond; she didn’t know how she would. She did take the bottle when Karen held it out to her, taking a long swig. It was bourbon and it burned her throat. She handed it back to Karen without so much as a cough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona sat, back against the wall. She let her left hand rest on her sawed-off shotgun in her off-hand holster and used her right hand to pull her hat over her face. She didn’t much feel like lying down. She wanted to be ready to jump up if someone did manage to find them here. She would not let them take anyone else she cared about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft sound pierced through Winona’s light, dreamless sleep. She shifted, flexing her fingers on her gun. The sound was sobbing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona found herself suddenly wide awake. She leaned forward, moving her hat back to the top of her head and squinting into the darkness. The fire had nearly gone out and it was only casting the faintest glow over the sleeping women in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sadie Addler, the widow Dutch, Arthur, and Micah had brought to them, was curled up by the fire, sobbing softly. Poor woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona rose from her place against the wall near the door and knelt next to the woman, warming her frozen hands by the embers. She said nothing, even when Sadie looked up at her with an expression that was almost angry, but more anguished than anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona reached for a few new logs and stoked the fire until it was roaring again. Then she just sat next to Sadie, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long time before either of them said anything. Sadie broke the silence after a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” Her voice was hoarse from crying, and raspy on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona Hunt,” she gave the widow’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Did those men hurt you at all? Any injuries I should look at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that older woman-- uh, Grimshaw-- checked me out,” Sadie sighed. “Are you a doctor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not really,” Winona shrugged. “Just patch these boys up a lot so I’ve learned a thing or two over the years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sadie said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs. Addler,” Winona glanced at the other woman. “You are safe here. I ain’t letting anyone hurt you; you or anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sadie said nothing but clasped Winona’s hand tightly and allowed herself to cry again. Winona squeezed her hand. She thought of when she was a child, still grieving for a mother she’d lost and how when she cried, Hosea or Grimshaw would sing to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Winona began, softly as she could so as not to wake anyone else. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>As I walked out in Laredo one day, I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen, Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sadie continued sobbing, but she squeezed Winona’s hand tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh beat the drum slowly, and play the fife lowly, sing the dead march as you carry me along,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Winona wondered as she sang if a song about a dying cowboy was the proper thing to sing under the circumstances, but it was a soft song and she thought maybe it would be somewhat comforting. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Take me to the valley, then lay the sod o’er me, I’m a young cowboy, I know I’ve done wrong.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona could almost feel Hosea’s arm around her shoulder as he sang and she cried. For a moment, she almost felt like she was twelve again, like it was her and only her against the world again. But it wasn’t. She had the gang, her family, and she was going to do everything she could to keep them afloat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy, these words he did say as I boldly walked by, come sit down beside me and hear my sad story, got shot in the breast and I know I must die,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Winona wasn’t the best singer. She paled in comparison to Karen's sweet voice. Karen could hit high notes that Winona’s low, scratchy voice couldn’t come close to reaching. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Go fetch me some water, a cool cup of water, to cool my hot lips, then the poor cowboy said, before I returned, his spirit had left him, had gone to his maker, the cowboy was dead. Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly, sing the dead march as you carry me along, take me to the valley and lay the sod o’er me, I’m a young cowboy, I know I’ve done wrong.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Winona finished, they sat in silence for a little while longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a very nice voice,” Sadie was barely audible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Winona smiled. “I’m sorry if that was the wrong song to sing. Hosea used to sing it to me when I was a kid. I’d wake up crying from these nightmares and he’d put his arm around me and sing. Always helped a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona nodded. She sat there with Sadie for a long time. She didn’t return to her place by the door until Sadie laid back and her breathing slowed. Winona pulled her hat back over her face and placed her hand near her gun, a habit born from a life of looking over her shoulder. She fell back into a light, dreamless sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona had been on guard duty when Arthur and Javier came riding in with John. There had been a moment of panic when Grimshaw and Hosea came running towards her, shouting her name. She’d worried there had been an attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John is alive, but he needs help now,” Hosea explained breathlessly, taking her by the elbow and leading her to the cabin where John was lying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona thought it would be a bad idea to mention that the cot John was now lying on was the same cot on which Davey died. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never thought I'd be so happy to see your stupid face,” John made an attempt at a joke but it came out as a pained grunt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems those wolves clawed your face real good, we’re nearly twins,” Winona grinned at him, finger sliding along the mangled scar around her mouth where a wolf had tried to eat her face when she was a teenager. “Abigail, will you fetch my bag, the small one with all the medical supplies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Abigail shot John a glare and hurried out of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s never going to forgive me,” John muttered, wincing when Winona turned his face so she could get a good look at the wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t blame her, you are a dumbass,” Winona gave him a sly grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, not you too,” John groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abigail came back in, setting the bag down by the cot. Charles followed Grimshaw and Reverend Swanson inside. They waited patiently for Winona to give them something to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit still,” Winona ordered when he squirmed. “You’re going to need a lot of stitches, but you aren’t going to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s a relief,” John sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona gave him a goofy smile. She was trying to stay positive but seeing John so bloody scared her. It took great effort to keep her hands steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reverend, give him some morphine, I’m not even going to attempt stitches without it,” Winona barked orders. In another life, she might’ve been a great leader, but she would never even think about starting her own gang. This gang was her family. “Grimshaw, would you please hold him still. Charles, will you take Abigail elsewhere. She doesn’t need to be here.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>She doesn’t need to see this part. If it were my lover, I wouldn’t want to see it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone immediately complied. It was hard to argue with Winona. Some still managed it, but she said and did everything with unwavering confidence that most of the time, people couldn’t help but do as she wished. It made her a good conwoman and a good bandit. It’s hard to argue with an angry woman holding a shotgun to your face, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wished the confidence wasn’t a farce as often as it was. She felt less than in control right now. There was a moment in those two months she’d been back with her people where she believed she’d finally regained control over her life but all of that died in Blackwater with Davey and Jenny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held John’s hand as Swanson pushed the needle into his vein. He barely even winced. Winona admired him a little for that. She wasn’t fond of needles and she wasn’t fond of the way morphine made her feel. She remembered, with a great deal of disgust, the week she’d spent confined to a cot at the edge of camp when she first returned to the gang, her arm in a sling to take the weight off the healing muscle in her right shoulder, and the frequent shots of morphine that were the only thing standing between her and agonizing pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the bullet had just grazed her, she would’ve gone without the morphine. John would’ve criticized her and Arthur would’ve worried, but she would’ve done it anyway. It wasn’t about them, after all. But instead of grazing her, the bullet had gone straight through. If it hadn’t been for John and Javier, she was certain she would have bled to death alone in those woods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mind flashed to Mac and Sean. She hoped they were safe. Nobody deserved to die alone and afraid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When John’s eyelids fluttered, the sleepiness taking over, Winona set about stitching him up as gently as she could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ain’t dying on me, Johnny Marston,” she muttered as she worked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand limply touched her wrist, “I ain’t planning on it, Winnie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winnie was the nickname that only Arthur and John had ever been able to get away with. Even Hosea had tried it once, and Winona had thrown a bottle at his head. He ducked and it shattered on the wall behind him, but he’d gotten the message.  John and Arthur only got away with it because they were her best friends. There were few people Winona trusted wholly and completely, and John and Arthur sat at the top of that list. They’d grown up together. They were like her older brothers. They’d always protected her and she, in turn, protected them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona was exhausted. She left the cabin feeling hot and sweaty. It was still freezing but the stress of sewing John’s flesh back together had left her anxious. She looked at her hands. John’s blood was all over them, caked under her fingernails. Unthinkingly, Winona stuck her bare hands in the snow. It felt good. She worked the blood off, trying to scrape it from underneath her nails. John would be fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is he?” Charles was standing above her, smiling sympathetically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s still an idiot,” Winona chuckled, “but he’ll live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Charles said, leaning against the wall of the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think this snow is gonna die down anytime soon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s beginning to slow, but it could still snow through the night, I think.” Charles looked thoughtfully at the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles had been right. It snowed through the night but, by the next morning, it had stopped. Winona woke at first light, leaving the cabin as silently as she could. She found a shovel and took Davey’s body, wrapped in a white sheet, to the edge of the camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lenny was on guard, and he waved to her solemnly as she dragged Davey and her tools past him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She began to dig underneath a nice tree. She had to get through quite a bit of snow before she even hit the frozen earth. That bit alone took over an hour and most of the camp was awake by then. She grew hot and sweaty quickly and was forced to discard her jacket, despite the temperature. Digging frozen ground was also a fair bit more difficult than she imagined. She knew it would be hard, but she hadn’t anticipated quite how hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur brought her coffee and helped her dig for a bit, but then he had to go help Dutch and Bill with something related to the O’Driscolls. She didn’t like the idea of O’Driscolls being around. They weren’t generally fans of Dutch’s gang anyway, but she was particularly unpopular among them at the moment, something for which she could only blame herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davey’s grave ended up being more shallow than she would have liked, but she was already sore and tired and she still had to refill it. She worked his body into the hole and laid his precious guns over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pretty, snowy mountain wasn’t a bad place to be laid to rest. She hoped he would’ve liked it. Tears threatened to spill over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Refilling the grave was a bit easier than digging it. There wasn’t enough soil to refill it completely. That was always how it was. There was never enough soil to refill the grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She found some rocks and made a somewhat pathetic looking cairn over it. Then she stuck the wooden cross she’d carved the night before. It read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Davey Callander:  At the end of the day, I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. If that makes me an outlaw, so be it. I’ve been called worse.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Davey,” she whispered to the cool mountain air. She did not know if she believed in heaven or hell, or any sort of afterlife. She liked to believe that there was something, anything, after one died, but she had yet to die so she didn’t really know. “Davey, you were a real piece of work sometimes. But you had a good heart and you always treated me fair. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat near the grave and spoke quietly. She always did this after she buried someone. She couldn’t give them the proper funeral that other, more civilized folks got, but she could give them the closest she had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard footsteps coming up the hill behind her. Charles picked her coat up off the ground and draped it over her shoulders before sitting next to her. She hadn’t realized she was shivering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was not alright. At least, she didn’t think she was. She’d been worse before, but still. She didn’t know how to answer without revealing too much of herself to Charles. She liked him plenty, but he was still a bit of a stranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope I did right by them,” she said finally. “Davey and Jenny. I hope I did right by them. I know I did all I could, but I still wonder if there’s something more I could have done, something I never thought of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was already high in the sky. This had taken longer than she thought it would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did right by them,” he said, kneeling next to her. “You did more than most of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona shrugged. “We all have our parts. We all did our best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles nodded. They sat for a long time, looking at Davey’s grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one else,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Winona silently promised herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I will not bury another friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Thief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Despite her better judgment, Winona robs a train.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i've had this chapter and the next one written for days but my internet hasn't been reliable enough to actually get it posted. chapter 3 coming asap.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, it could’ve gone a hell of a lot worse,” John glared at Javier. “Neither of us got shot, we got paid, I don’t see what the issue is.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The issue is there were twice the amount of guards you said there’d be!” Javier shot back. “We got lucky, amigo, that’s it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t John’s fault the guy who gave him the tip underestimated the number of men guarding the stagecoach. He just followed a lead, just like anyone else would. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Javier was still ranting at him, but John tuned it out, focusing on the road ahead. It was raining a little. It had been raining a lot, but it was dying down now. The night was foggy and slightly ominous. Still, he was glad they decided to take the long way back to camp. He enjoyed a good night ride once in a while.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Javier eventually tired himself out after realizing that John did not intend to continue the argument.  The ride was much more pleasant when they were silent.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s that on the road ahead?” Javier had pulled his horse to a complete stop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John squinted into the fog ahead of them. A faint silhouette, only illuminated at all by the full moon, was shambling on foot ahead of them. For a brief moment, John wondered if that horror novel Mary-Beth had told him about a few days earlier had come true, that the dead had risen and were coming for them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As the figure drew closer, John realized it was not a zombie, but a woman. She didn’t seem to have noticed them. She was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Her gait was clumsy and John was sure she’d collapse at any moment. She was cradling her right arm in her left and blood leaked from a nasty wound in her shoulder, staining her white button-down shirt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She looked up, finally seeing them, stopping in her tracks. Her face was hidden in the shadow cast by the flat brim of her gamblers hat. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please… help,” she croaked, falling to her knees. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John was off his horse instantly, catching her before she fell. The hat slipped off her head and hung around her neck by a beaded cord. He adjusted one of her arms so it was around his neck, letting the injured one sit on her chest. He looked into her face and felt his chest tighten. The pale, gray eyes, glassy from pain and blood loss as they were, were familiar. As was the mangled scar below her narrow lips and the long, straight nose that was just slightly crooked from one-too-many breaks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Javier,” John grunted, lifting her. She cried out in pain as her shoulder moved awkwardly. “Javier, help me get her onto your horse.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The other man reached down, trying to gently lift her, then his eyes widened when he saw her face. John knew he was having the same fearful tightening of the chest that John had experienced moments before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Javier’s voice was stiff and forced. He steadied her in the saddle in front of him, letting her head lull back onto his chest. “Winona, you need to stay awake for me. Loba, por favor.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her eyes fluttered open again but began to slide shut just as fast. It was taking her a fair amount of effort to stay awake.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John mounted his horse and began a brisk pace back to camp. Javier followed, keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Winona. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I need you to stay awake, Loba. Talk to me. We are close to camp, just stay awake a little longer.” Javier’s soft words didn’t help much. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John could hear soft, unintelligible murmurs escaping her lips, but, based on Javier’s worried expression, she was fading fast. He had a sudden, very terrifying thought that Winona would die. She would die and there was nothing John could do. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He urged his horse to pick up speed. The fear was beginning to consume his rational mind but he pushed away thoughts of Winona’s pale corpse. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t long before the dim lights of camp appeared ahead. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Grimshaw! Dutch! We need help!” John called out. “We need medical supplies, now!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When Dutch appeared, helping Javier lift Winona off the horse, her eyes shot open and an anguished cry of pain escaped her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My girl, you are safe. You are going to be alright,” Dutch spoke as he carried her to the nearest cot he could find. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Grimshaw hurried over, carrying the medical bag with her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What happened?” Arthur demanded, finding John. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John realized only then that he was trembling. “We found her- she collapsed on the road. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how long she was alone. Christ, Arthur, what if she-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“She’s gonna be fine,” Arthur patted John on the shoulder, forcing a smile. “Winona is a fighter. She’ll be fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John did not believe that Arthur was convinced of this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ve met Winona,” Mary-Beth was leading a significantly calmer Sadie Adler around camp, introducing her to all the gang members. “She’s a bit rough around the edges, but she’s secretly a sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Winona said sarcastically, tipping her hat at the pair. “Sweet as they come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sadie smiled at her. No one but they need to know about the song she sang to Sadie a few nights ago. Sadie would keep the secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easier for Winona to be almost one of the men if she kept up the ruse that she was as tough as them. She was actually as tough as them, and so were the rest of the women, but the rest of the women didn’t usually pull robberies or shoot people or even hunt, and Winona did all of those things. She had been around before any of the other women, save for Grimshaw. She ended up learning all the skills John and Arthur learned, being raised by Hosea and Dutch. The things the women did, like sewing, were not skills Winona had ever learned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t for lack of trying on Miss Grimshaw’s part, of course. Grimshaw had sat a thirteen-year-old Winona down with a needle and thread and a scrap of fabric and told her how to do it but Winona was a monster of a girl in her youth. She was more interested in riding and shooting and she couldn’t focus on sewing to save her life. Eventually, Grimshaw gave up and let her be a rough-and-tough cowgirl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona did patch and wash her own clothes usually. She felt bad making the other girls do it. Winona did her best to be as self-sufficient as possible. Her patches weren’t pretty at all, but they held well enough so she couldn’t complain too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona,” Dutch touched her shoulder lightly, “How's that shoulder these days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave it an experimental roll. It still was stiffer than before she took a bullet, but she could pull a bowstring again and she’d been able to lift a shotgun for a month-and-a-half. “Good enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good. Then how do you feel about doing this train job with us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced at Hosea. His eyebrows were knit together in concern. When Hosea worried, Winona worried. She understood Dutch’s eagerness to get some money in their pockets but she also understood Hosea’s fear of making their situation worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in,” she said slowly. It was better if she went. At least, if she was there, she could keep an eye on everyone, keep them safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good girl,” Dutch grinned at her then gave Hosea a pointed look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had tuned out their argument while she watched the boys mount up, trying to decide if she was going to accompany them on this robbery that seemed so rushed to her. Hosea did not like the idea of it and she understood why, but Dutch would not back down from this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be careful,” she whispered to Hosea before mounting her horse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sable, as she had named him, was a gray and black spotted American Standardbred. She’d bought him in Blackwater after O’Driscolls killed her previous horse and shot her. He was a good boy, strong and fast, and very obedient. He wasn’t as jumpy as her old horse but he didn’t like strangers very much and it had taken some time for him to trust her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stayed near the back of the line, riding alongside Charles. The urge to continuously check behind them and see if they were being followed was overwhelming. The O’Driscolls could be anywhere, and if they found her she was dead meat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone following us?” Charles had a slightly amused smile playing across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Mr. Smith.” Winona resisted the urge to look behind them again, now that she knew Charles was watching her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m full of surprises.” He was smirking. She had never seen him smirk before. She liked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride took them out of the deep snow, something Winona was more than pleased about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at you boys, see?” Dutch was yelling to the group, making one of his motivational pre-job speeches. “This is what I call a crew. Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella, our lovely Winona Hunt, and what about young Lenny here? Always the first man on his horse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona couldn’t say how many similar speeches she’d heard from Dutch. He was good at a lot of things, but talking was Dutch’s strong suit. He was always talking about their dream, his dream; the plan. But, for all his talk and all their work, they were still penniless, on the run, and too far east to be anywhere near their dream. Or was it Dutch’s dream that Winona had convinced herself was hers too? Was she beginning to doubt him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d never doubted before. It was just a bad situation. They’d find a way out of it. They had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The train job was the first step, but, as if an omen for things to come or an echo of their earlier bad luck, it did not go according to plan. Not even close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tracks did not get blown and Winona sat for what felt like a long moment and stared at the train, still whooshing by. Her body moved before she really processed what she was doing, leaping from her horse and sprinting after the boys. The train was right underneath them. If she wasn’t a complete moron, she could land the jump. That was the only remaining plan, apparently. How many broken bones would she be setting tonight?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the record, Winona Hunt was not a complete moron. She jumped, just behind Arthur, and for a moment, her heart stopped. Then she hit the roof of one of the car's belly first, knocking the wind out of herself for a second. She frantically grabbed at something to hold onto. She heard a stream of Spanish curses, Javier probably, disappear behind her. She breathed a small sigh of relief. She made it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur pulled Lenny from the side of the train while Winona pulled herself up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s everyone else?” Lenny asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t make it on,” Winona glanced back. “Come on, boys, let's stop this damn train.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That turned out to be easier said than done. The train was well guarded and Lenny, Arthur, and her were only three people. It was a lot of hiding and taking potshots when an opportunity arose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They moved steadily through the cars, somehow managing to avoid getting shot. They were nearly there. Winona could see the engine up ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something hit her hard, knocking her into a wall. Her head cracked against something metal and she released her guns. Her vision blackened. Whatever-- whoever, she realized as hands wrapped around her throat-- had hit her was now sitting on top of her. She couldn’t breathe. She wriggled beneath him, seeing spots and stars. The tips of her outstretched fingers brushed something, possibly the butt of her lost shotgun, but she couldn’t quite reach it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur appeared in her vision and put a bullet right in the head of her attacker. Air suddenly flooded Winona’s lungs and she sat up, coughing hard. She felt Arthur’s hand on her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good,” she gasped. “Just need a minute. Go, stop the train.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur nodded and he and Lenny surged forward. She slowly regained her breath, finding her guns and pulling herself to a standing position. The train lurched and began to slow and it nearly knocked her off her feet again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur motioned for her to follow, so she sprinted out of the train and into the trees as bullets skittered across the dirt at her feet. She ducked behind a tree, guns ready, and began to shoot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Point, shoot, hide. Point, shoot, hide. Point, shoot, run to the next cover. It was almost calming, the methodical way she conducted herself in these situations, except there were bullets flying everywhere, some of them way too close for comfort. When she heard the sound of hooves, of their comrades coming to help them, she was more than relieved. The shooting slowed to a halt and she left her cover to join the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you three get on?” Dutch grinned at Arthur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Lenny did good. Winona had a little tussle with one of the guards.” Arthur’s voice was very monotone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you call getting my head slammed against a metal shelf a tussle, then sure,” Winona grunted, her fingers brushing against the place where her forehead hit metal. A bit of blood had trickled from the wound and down onto her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, fine job, all of you,” Dutch patted Arthur on the back. “There’s a couple left, holed up in the last car here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Winona rolled her eyes. She was ready to be done with all this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, the men holed up in the car do not open it. Of course, they had to fire warning shots at the door. Of course, the men do not respond well to these warning shots. Of course, Charles and Arthur had to blow the doors open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the men came filing out of the destroyed door, it was Winona’s job to keep them in line. She switched from her pair of guns to her double-barrel shotgun, leveling it very near to one of their faces. Even if they thought a woman criminal wouldn’t be so hard to get past, the shotgun suppresses and thoughts of escape. She hoped they wouldn’t have to kill these men. They weren’t guilty of anything other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You find anything?” Dutch called as Arthur came out of the train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, these bonds. They worth anything?” Arthur held out a stack of papers that almost looked like dollar bills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, yeah I reckon we can sell these pretty easily,” Dutch took them and patted Arthur on the back. “Alright folks, let’s get on back to camp!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona left the men in the care of Arthur and mounted Sable. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t kill them. That wasn’t who Arthur was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your head?” Charles brought his horse up beside hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, just a scratch.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or a concussion. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’ll live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Packing up camp was always chaotic, but at least they weren’t in a hurry. They had the time to be thorough about it, to make sure nothing got left behind. Winona wondered how much they’d left behind in Blackwater, aside from their money and Sean and Mac. She hadn’t left much behind. When she returned to the gang, she didn’t have much; just her guns and whatever was in her satchel. She had very few belongings to leave behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona got saddled with Pearson and Sadie on their way to the new camp, which wasn’t so bad except that Pearson insisted on telling stories of his time in the Navy. She did not really want to hear about Pearsons time in the Navy. She couldn’t even pretend to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, things went well. They got out of the mountains and into some pretty woods. Winona was not the biggest fan of being so far east, but if the country was this pretty, she could stand to be here for a little while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horseshoe Overlook was nice enough. Secluded, easily defendable, close enough to a town to be convenient but far enough away to be safe. Winona liked it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She set up her small tent at the edge of camp, like always. She preferred to be further away from all the noise of the gang. Her bedroll was more like a pile of blankets and a pillow than a real bed and she liked it that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimshaw let Winona get away without doing much work on the first day. She took a look at John’s wounds and checked his stitches and she checked all the boys over for injuries from the train robbery. There were a few cuts and bruises here and there, but it seemed the worst one was her own head wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the second day, Winona went hunting to avoid Grimshaws wrath and the prospect of camp chores. She was a little anxious about it, only because Valentine was full of O’Driscolls and they probably had a larger camp nearby. She had to be sure she wouldn’t be recognized. Her hunting trip was successful: a few rabbits and a deer. Pearson was happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona was already bored. The sun began to set. Pearson cooked stew. The men were drinking. The women were talking softly. Winona sat near the fire, half-listening to Mary-Beth’s rambles about a book she was reading. Winona often read books Mary-Beth leant to her, if she had the attention span to do so of course. Winona was busy carving something out of a piece of wood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t exactly good at carving or whittling. Her little animals usually ended up looking more like weird nightmare creatures than real animals. She’d started giving them to Jack. He seemed to enjoy playing with them, even if they weren’t very pretty. At the very least, it was something that kept her hands occupied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> she was working on now was meant to be a deer but the antlers were all wrong and the little eye holes were lopsided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona,” Mary-Beth’s voice broke her haze of concentration. She sounded unhappy. Winona snapped back to reality. “Are you even listenin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona opened her mouth and grappled with her mind for a response. “I’m tryin’ to, but this damn-.” She held up the wooden carving as if it was a sufficient explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary-Beth laughed loudly. At least she wasn’t mad anymore. “What on god's green earth is that supposed to be?” She took the little creature from Winona.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A deer,” Winona sighed, looking at it mournfully. “You’d really think I’d be better at this. I been doing it for years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Mary-Beth handed the animal back to her, grinning. “You’re good at plenty of other things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, like shooting, lying, stealing,” Winona began to list her daily duties as an outlaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary-Beth laughed again, even louder, shoving Winona’s shoulder playfully. “You’re good at more than just being an outlaw, silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, let me think,” Mary-Beth looked up, as if the nicest thing she could say was hovering in the air with the campfire smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See,” Winona said, taking the hesitation as evidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shush,” Mary-Beth waved her hand in Winona’s direction. Other gang members had begun to gather around with their stew, listening to the conversation. “Hunting. You’re a very good hunter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, I’ll give you that one, but still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still what?” Mary-Beth’s hands had gone to her hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona sighed, “I dunno. All the things I’m good at seem to revolve around destroying shit. Other people are better at creating things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some things need to be destroyed, for one reason or another,” Mary-Beth said softly. “Someone has to do it. You help take care of all of us, and you do it well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s any consolation at all,” Arthur cut in, “I think the little deer looks nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona hadn’t realized he was behind her, looking over her shoulder at the little thing. She cocked her head to the side a little, examining it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” she said, thrusting it up towards Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona, I couldn’t-” he tried to protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take it, okay. I got no use for it and you seem to like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned, contemplating the object before taking it. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put a hand on her shoulder before he walked away. Winona was coming to the conclusion that she was better at making grave markers and the thought left a hollow feeling in her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good singer,” Sadie’s voice was quiet. She was sitting in the shadows with her stew. “You have a real nice voice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Sadie,” Winona gave her a soft smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Singing wasn’t really creating something, but it wasn’t destroying anything either so she supposed she’d take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bowl of hot stew appeared in front of her. She took it, looking up at the large man who’d suddenly materialized. He’d probably actually just walked up while she was lost in her own thoughts again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Winona said and took a bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles sat next to her with his own bowl of stew. “You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your hand?” Winona never knew what to say to Charles. He was a nice man and she liked him, but she didn’t know anything about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” He took a hearty bite of his dinner. “How’s your head?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cut had pretty much scabbed over and she was fairly certain she didn’t have a concussion. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before any more words could be exchanged between them, Hosea and Dutch joined the circle, talking and laughing loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They must be reminiscing about the ‘good ole days’,” Winona muttered to Charles. “Hosea always gets that twinkle in his eye when he’s making fun of someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard that, young lady,” Hosea gave her a stern look, but it only lasted for a few seconds before he began to laugh again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, your hearing isn’t too bad, then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>old man</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Winona smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, don’t give me that,” Hosea chuckled. “As a matter of fact, Dutch and I were talking about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god,” Winona let out an exaggerated groan. “I shudder to think what you two have dredged up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember when you came to us, Winona?” Dutch cut in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea was smirking now. “How old was she? Maybe thirteen or fourteen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think she was younger than that. Twelve, perhaps?” Dutch corrected, the mischievous glint in his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds right,” Hosea agreed. “You were a small thing then, but you were even rowdier than Arthur.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, not this again,” Winona rolled her eyes. She glanced towards Charles, who was wearing a grin of his own. She liked his smile. She had never really considered it before, but she was so used to his stoic, emotionless expressions that the smile made her smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary-Beth and Tilly were both sucked into Hosea’s words, throwing Winona sneaky little smiles. John looked enormously pleased that he was not the brunt of the bullying tonight. He knew the story well enough. He was there, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, you all know Winona now,” Hosea looked around at his audience, which was most of the gang. “She’s mighty rowdy, tough, and grumpy. But back then she was a downright animal. When we found her, we had our work cut out for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you join, Winona?” Karen asked innocently, as if she didn’t already know the story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was getting to that,” Hosea gave Karen a look. “Dutch and I were in Chicago running a few cons. Dutch and John were walking down the street a little ways ahead of Arthur and me when we saw this tiny girl sneak up and grab something out of Dutch’s pocket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She would've gotten away with it, too,” Dutch interjected. “If they hadn’t been behind me, I never would have noticed. Didn’t feel a thing. She had my cash and pocket watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur yelled at her and she just took the goods and ran,” Hosea was smiling at her, almost proud. “When we finally caught up with her, we decided an innocent little girl who could also steal would fit right in with us. She didn’t have parents or anything, so we took her in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t get her to sit still through sewing lessons,” Grimshaw looked at her fondly. “But riding and shooting, she liked doing that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could hardly get her to sit through reading lessons either,” Hosea laughed. “But she can read and she can sort of sew, so I suppose we did pretty good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if it wasn’t for this gang, I don’t think I would have survived,” Winona said before finishing her last bit of stew and getting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She remembered clearly the day that changed her life. What would she have done if she’d known that the fancy-looking man she was robbing was going to be the man that changed her life? What would her life be if she’d never tried to rob Dutch van der Linde? She didn’t want to know. She didn’t need to find out. This was her family. This was all she needed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Dance to Remember</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Winona and Bill do a little stagecoach job and Charles goes back to Blackwater to rescue Sean.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yay, my internet is working more consistently again! hopefully I will continue to be able to pump out chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The bullet whizzed just a few inches shy of the bottle. Winona cursed loudly. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at the profanities escaping the lips of the tiny girl.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was fourteen and she didn’t even come up to his chin. The shirt she was wearing was at least two sizes too large for her and her belt, tightly cinched above her waist, was the only thing keeping her pants up. Even the revolver she was holding looked strangely large in her hands.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re close,” Arthur tried to reassure her. “If that was a person, they’d be bleeding.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She shot him a glare before holding the gun up and beginning to aim again. Arthur adjusted her hands slightly and looked down the sights from over her shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Relax,” Arthur breathed. “You have to be able to stay calm, even when there’s chaos around you. Breath in.” She did. “Breath out. Pull the trigger as you breathe out. Always shoot on empty lungs.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She breathed in then breathed out again. The bullet flew and hit the very top of the bottle. It was almost a miss, but not quite.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Good,” Arthur smiled, surprising himself at how proud he felt. “Try again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valentine was perhaps the muddiest place Winona had ever been. There were a lot of muddy places in the world, but Valentine’s streets were absolutely disgusting. She silently reminded herself to walk Sable through a stream a few hundred times before she went home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least it was civilization, though. They’d been in the area for a few weeks and Winona was grateful to feel somewhat free again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona Hunt,” a familiar voice called her name as she was hitching Sable outside the saloon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snapped up, looking around to see Dutch and Josiah Trelawny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trelawny? Where the hell have you been?” She hugged him lightly. She and Trelawny had always gotten along well enough. He had style and charm most politicians would envy and he, for some reason, liked her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could ask you the same question, my dear,” He gave her a knowing look. “I heard tell of you traipsing around Lemoyne for a little while, or at least, it sounded like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was in Lemoyne for a bit, yeah,” Winona agreed, taking note of the curious look Dutch was giving her. “But I didn’t find what I was looking for there, so I’m back where I belong again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it is lovely to see you, my dear,” Trelawny dramatically kissed her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too,” Winona smiled awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you have in mind, today, Winona?” Dutch asked her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged, “Meeting a few of the boys at the saloon. I shudder to think of what they’ve gotten up to without my supervision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, shouts broke out from inside.  Winona peeked in through the window. The saloon had been reduced to chaos. People were shouting, breaking bottles, chairs, and tables, punching one another. Right in the middle of it, Winona registered with an exasperated sigh, was Javier, Arthur, Bill, and Charles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like I’m too late,” she muttered, moving away from the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch looked mildly amused, “If you had been supervising, you would have shot someone by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re probably right,” Winona agreed with a begrudging laugh. “So much for a low profile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur was tossed through a window and into the muddy street. Winona didn’t know it was possible for a man to be bigger than Arthur, but this man was definitely bigger than Arthur. Arthur staggered to his feet, nose bleeding, and covered in muck. The bigger man threw a punch but Arthur blocked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona considered just shooting the guy to save her friend, but that would escalate the situation further and the last thing they needed was to figure out how to get Winona out of a murder charge. Besides, Arthur didn’t look like he was ready to back down just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles, Javier, and Bill all shuffled out, all looking a little guilty. Winona caught herself smirking. This was all just too entertaining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, it looked like Arthur was going to lose the fight and someone would have to step in to keep him breathing. The big guy, Tommy, based on the shouts from the crowd that had gathered, was way bigger and stronger than Arthur, which was saying a lot because small or weak were not words Winona would use to describe her friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was trying to think of a way to step in without making things worse when Tommy got Arthur in a chokehold. Winona took a step forward, ready to save her friend, but Charles caught her wrist, stopping her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” he said lowly, barely audible above the shouts and jeers from the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona gave him a puzzled look, but she didn’t move. Arthur elbowed Tommy hard in the gut and Winona heard a sickening, familiar crack. Tommy’s rib was definitely broken and it was clearly very painful. She knew the feeling too well, she’d broken a rib or two in her time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur turned the tables after that. It didn’t take long for Tommy to be in the mud getting the shit beaten out of him. Arthur probably would have killed the man if that charity-do-gooder hadn’t stepped in and gotten him to back down. Instead, he staggered to his feet and found a washbasin. He was absolutely covered in mud. And Winona thought Sable's hooves were dirty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making new friends again, I see, Arthur,” Josiah piped up, looking very amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch chuckled, “Look who we found, sniffing about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Josiah Trelawny,” Arthur grinned, cleaning his face off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The very same,” Dutch agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur sat down heavily on a nearby bench. “Well, well, I thought you’d gone to New York.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And miss all this glamour?” It was true that Josiah looked very out of place in Valentine with his mustache and fancy suit and tophat. “You must be joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you?” Arthur’s words were a little bit slurred, probably due to the punch (or two, or three)  in the face he’d taken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, quite well indeed,” Josiah strode over to Arthur. “I went to Blackwater looking for you gentlemen. You’re not very popular there it seems.” Josiah looked up to see the other boys coming over. “Ah, Javier, and Charles. I’ve missed you. And Bill, looking as well as can be. Gentlemen, always a pleasure.” Josiah bowed slightly dramatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill was limping slightly, but Arthur was the one who really looked like he’d been in a fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Dutch nodded solemnly. “We ain’t too popular in Blackwater.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We left a lot of money there,” Arthur said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And young Sean, it seems,” Josiah had that knowing twinkle in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sean?” Dutch and Winona said in unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You found him?” Dutch’s voice changed instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I have,” Josiah looked pleased with himself. “He’s being held by some bounty hunters, trying to see how much money the government will pay them. I know he’s in Blackwater, but there’s talk of them moving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if we step foot in Blackwater,” Arthur said, popping his jaw, possibly popping it back into place. “Well, then we’re dead men for sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’ll be Pinkertons all over the place, but if he’s alive, we gotta try.” Winona could see the wheels turning in Dutch’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course,’ Arthur agreed, albeit hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s you they want, Dutch,” Josiah pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch sighed, “Always is.” There was a moment of silence. Then Dutch started to bark orders. “Charles, go find out what you can, carefully. Josiah, take Javier. Arthur, go get yourself cleaned up. Join them when you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what about me?” Bill put in as everyone sprang into action. Winona lingered, already suspecting Dutch’s answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, exactly. What about you?” Dutch was getting annoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Bill,” Dutch looked exasperated. “Come on. Winona, hows about you take Bill and keep him busy for a little while, alright? Do a job or hunt or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On it,” Winona said, starting off towards their horses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill looked somewhat flustered but he followed. Winona mounted her horse, going through her small list of leads in her head, trying to think of one she thought Bill would handle well. He wasn’t exactly stealthy, so any of her little heists or break-ins wouldn’t work so well, plus it was broad daylight. She didn’t entirely trust him to keep his cool in a high-stress situation. It’d have to be something quick and easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona started them in the direction of her plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How mad is Dutch that I started that bar fight?” Bill brought his horse alongside hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona shrugged, “You did do the opposite of his one explicit order. Laying low is not our strong suit, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill looked down at his reins, as close to miserably as a man like him could manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, don’t worry,” Winona grinned at him. “We come back with some money, he'll forgive you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ve known Dutch for fifteen years. He’ll get over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got something in mind, then?” Bill had an excited glimmer in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride wasn’t long. Winona figured they were far enough away from Valentine and camp that they wouldn’t be followed back. She pulled her bandana over her face. Bill followed suit, looking at her quizzically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t you gonna tell me what we’re doing here?” He demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona shrugged. “Stagecoach. Pretty typical. Wasn’t gonna hit it, but now there’s two of us, so I figured it’d go smoother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's the plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's a payroll coach coming from the Valentine bank, headed to the Cornwall refinery,” Winona said, her hands moving around as she spoke. “There’ll be two guards riding a bit ahead. I want to hit them quick, right as they come over that hill there, give them no time to react. If we’re fast enough, we should be able to jump the stage. Now, the tricky part will be the rear guard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, knowing you, you’ve already got that figured out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have to use the driver and shotgun as hostages. I’ll keep my guns on them all while you blow the safes. Think you can handle some dynamite this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill raised his hands in exasperated defense, “You and Arthur both! You’ll never let it go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not,” Winona grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is kinda risky for just the two of us,” Bill pointed out. He was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we can handle it,” Winona said, reassuring herself with the confidence in her own voice. “Just look menacing and wave your guns and dynamite around a bunch. It’s called shotgun diplomacy, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill sighed, but Winona could tell he was smiling under his bandana. They spent the next few minutes in silence. Then, the sound of hooves could be heard from just beyond the hill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember, keep your cool,” Winona muttered, tone serious now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Bill said through gritted teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious. As little bloodshed as we can manage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill didn’t have time to respond because two heavily armed men came over the hill. The pair of bandits hadn’t been spotted yet and Winona held up a fist to signal Bill to wait just another moment. Then they hit the line she had mentally drawn and Winona took off, Bill only a moment behind her. The two guards didn’t have time to react. They had to be quick and quiet so as not to scare away the stagecoach itself. Winona brought Sable right in front of them fast enough to scare their horses. She extended the butt of her full-length, double-barrel shotgun and smacked one of them across the head. He slumped forwards and slid off the horse. Bill reached for the other, pulling him into a chokehold until he passed out. None dead, not a sound, no suspicion drawn. So far, so good. Winona superstitiously knocked lightly on the wood of her gun, just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stage is about to come over the hill. Get off the road and get up behind them. I’ll get them to stop,” Winona ordered and Bill complied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona dismounted, barking at Sable to flee. Knowing that horse, he wouldn’t go very far. Just far enough as to avoid suspicion. Then she crouched behind a shrub. The one nice thing about her small, unassuming figure is she could easily hide. It came in handy fairly frequently. She lost sight of Bill just as she caught sight of the stage coming over the hill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold up,” the driver of the coach said loudly. “What the hell is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was already slowing near where the two unconscious men were lying, their horses slowly meandering away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that coach!” Winona shouted, darting out of her hiding spot. She had a minute, tops, before the rear guard came over the hill, so she needed to gain control of the situation fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coach driver pulled frantically to a stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get down from there!” Winona leveled her shotgun at the man’s head. “Try anything funny and I’ll blow your brains out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two men raised their hands in surrender, slowly getting down from the coach. Bill appeared near the back, already getting started on the safes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get over here,” she barked. They did what she asked, coming towards her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaped forwards, knocking one of them out with the butt of her gun. Then she leveled the gun at the other man's forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t want to kill any of ya, but if you fail to do exactly as we say, we will,” she said, her voice low and threatening. “Turn around, move it.” He turned around and she pushed him forward with the gun. She saw the rear guard come over the hill and see the situation and she wanted to put the driver between them and her and Bill. She stood just in front of Bill as he set the Dynamite with the driver just in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let the man go, please, ma’am,” one of the two rear guards called out. “You’re making a big mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two stay right where you are and nobody has to get hurt,” Winona shouted back. “My associate and I will get what we want and nobody gets hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are robbing Leviticus Cornwall,” the guard said, as if that mattered at all to Winona. “You will come to regret this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I know anything about Leviticus Cornwall, it’s that he’s got plenty of wealth to share,” Winona snarled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, these are lit. We need to stand back,” Bill said, nudging her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She backed up, still keeping the driver between them and the guards until they were on the other side of the coach. The dynamite blew, nearly knocking them off their feet, then they slowly moved back to their previous position. Winona kept an eye on the guards while Bill got all the money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’re we looking?” She called to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good!” Bill chuckled, clearly pleased. “Real fucking good. I got it all, let's move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you gentleman be so kind as to dismount, please?” Winona asked sweetly while Bill pointed his own gun at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive was trembling and she almost felt bad for him, but she decided it was a little late to grow a heart. The guards carefully dismounted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dear,” she said to Bill. “Please discard their weapons and tie them up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With pleasure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill approached them quickly. They were both getting antsy. Someone could walk in on this at any moment. They needed to move. Guns were tossed into the bushes and the men’s wrists were tied. Bill hurried them over to the coach and pushed them inside. Winona tied the driver, putting him in with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill and Winona took off at a sprint towards their horses. The sprint turned to a gallop. They headed straight into the woods, avoiding the trail at any cost. Winona kept looking back, afraid they were being followed, but after riding for ten minutes, it was clear they weren’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, they stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How's the take?” Winona asked, breathing heavily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a damn good one, especially for just the two of us.” Bill handed her a wad of cash, which she gladly accepted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Dutch’ll forgive you now. Make sure the gang gets its share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know the rules, Winona,” Bill glared at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you do, alright.” She rolled her eyes. “Let's split up from here. Don’t go straight back to camp and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sure ya ain’t followed,” Bill mocked her. “Yer gettin’ paranoid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cautious,” she corrected. “I’m cautious. Hey, our luck is finally turning around. Look at this fucking score! I’d buy you a drink to celebrate but your last trip to the saloon didn’t end so well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on,” Bill sighed. “I’ll see you at camp.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Likewise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took off in opposite directions. The sun was getting low in the sky. It was late afternoon. She wondered if Arthur, Javier, and Charles had been able to get Sean back. Were they already on their way home? Were they already home? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rode through the woods a ways before she found the trail and doubled back towards camp. It was dark when she finally got there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, when she hitched her horse, she heard a telltale Irish accent shouting up a storm. Sean stood on top of a box, giving some speech to the whole camp, or really anyone that would listen. Winona smiled. She’d never tell him, but she was happy to see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one was panicking or rushing towards her for help, so that meant no one died or got hurt in the rescue process. That, too, was a relief. Death or even an injury would dampen her good spirits after what had turned out to be a good day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Winona you grumpy lass,” Sean shouted when he spotted her. “I missed ya! I know ya missed me too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In your dreams, Irish,” she called back, grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, ya love me, really, ya do. Deep down in that sour ole heart of yers, ya love me,” Sean tipped his hat at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes, but she took the whiskey bottle he offered her and took a hefty swig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ehhh! That’s the Winona I know and love,” he yelled, gaining a few cheers from onlooking gang members. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m keeping this,” she gestured towards the mostly-full bottle, then walked away to sit near John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard Sean’s playful protests and an eruption of laughter behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona,” Arthur called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped and smiled at him. “Arthur! I see things went well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, something like that,” he chuckled gruffly. “I heard you and Bill got on real well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our luck is turning around, I can feel it,” she felt familiar excitement burning in her belly. “That job went smooth as silk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, glad to hear it. Bill seemed happy and he’s back on Dutch’s good side, so all in all it seems you two were quite successful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were. Now go get a drink and have some fun for once, old man,” she nudged him playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have too much fun, Winnie,” he said, pointing at the bottle in her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scowled at him and took a long, spiteful drink. He laughed and moved away. She grinned, making her way towards where John, Charles, and Javier were sitting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Loba,” Javier greeted her happily. “I’d challenge you to a drinking competition, but I see you’ve already started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could still drink you under the table, Javier, even with a head start,” she said, sitting down heavily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charles, a word of advice,” John laughed, “Never, ever challenge Winona to a drinking competition, and if you do, don’t bet money on it. She’s undefeated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles chuckled, looking at her warmly, “I’ll keep it in mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you say, Loba,” Javier grinned. “Hell, I’m feeling lucky. Ten bucks says I can drink you under the table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t John just say not to bet on it?” Charles shot him an amused look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Javier shrugged. “She’s already drinking. I think I have an advantage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am in,” Winona set the bottle down on the table. “I just hope you can stay conscious long enough to play guitar later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Let it never be said that Winona was a lightweight. She’d been drinking her whole life, or so it seemed, and she had a tolerance one would expect from a fifty-year-old, lifelong alcoholic with a beer gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Javier tapped out after four drinks and went to the campfire to play some music. Winona was ten dollars richer, very pleased with herself, and seeing double. The warmth of drunkenness was overwhelming and she knew she was acting odd but she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. She was a little embarrassed to be drunk around Charles. He was stoic and strange but she liked him and she hoped this night didn’t end with him watching her throw up or pass out. She’d rather he continued to see her as he currently did, badass and impenetrable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona managed to stumble to the campfire to enjoy a few songs. Then she saw Dutch and Molly dancing and she was overcome with an urge to dance, which was very unlike her. She always was a restless drunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur joined in the dancing, tipping and twirling Mary-Beth. She knew she was staring at them, a small smile on her face, but she could not tear her eyes away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to dance?” Charles had clearly seen her gawking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was flattered, but she didn’t need to spend so much time around Charles drunk as all hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. I’m too drunk. I’m certain I’ll step on your toes.” She looked down at her knees, trying to ignore the blush that had spread across her cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Charles reached for her hand. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her to the dance floor. It was nice, at least for her, even though she felt clumsy. Her limbs felt too long. But Charles twirled her anyway and only chuckled when she did, inevitably, step on his toes. He just smiled softly at her and she noticed the light blush on his cheeks. He’d had a few drinks himself, so perhaps it wasn’t so bad to let go around him for once. She felt like she’d been dancing around him since they met and she couldn’t even rightly say why. She was having fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point, he spun her so hard she lost her balance and fell against his chest, giggling madly. He chuckled lightly, which was still the most she’d ever heard him laugh. He smelled like horse tack and tobacco and gunsmoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona eventually came to remember that night as the moment where it really began. Perhaps she felt it, even then, although she didn’t know what it was she felt. After that night, there was no going back.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lets Get it Done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dutch tells Charles and Javier to go find Winona in town. She needs some stealthy extra hands for a job.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here's a little pov switcharoo for fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Charles, I don’t believe you’ve met Winona yet,” John said, gesturing towards the woman he had brought into camp, bleeding to death of a gunshot wound only a few days earlier. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John and Winona had been sitting at the table at the edge of camp with cups of coffee. It was early morning and Winona had been up earlier than Charles. He’d seen her at the edge of camp, struggling to do a few small chores with her right arm, apparently the dominant one, still in a sling to take the weight of the muscle in her shoulder that had been wrecked by the bullet wound. He’d considered offering her help, but he recalled the previous night when Mac Callander offered to help her and ended up with her pistol against his nose. She seemed to be the “do it yourself or not at all” type. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She had eventually succeeded at her goal, which was refilling the washbasin, but it had taken a great deal longer than it would have for someone with two working arms. She had already begun to forgo the shots of morphine which Swanson offered her, a fact which worried Arthur and visibly frustrated John. She was clearly in pain, but that didn’t seem to bother her as much as the other effects of the drug.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hi,” Charles said, feeling a bit awkward.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A certain shyness was understandable. Even before her dramatic return to the fold, Winona Hunt was a name that was uttered with almost legendary status. She had been part of the gang almost as long as John and Arthur and most of the senior members thought of her as family. Even Grimshaw spoke highly of her, and she rarely spoke highly of anyone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All the stories Charles had heard about her did not prepare him for her, though. He hadn’t expected her to be anything but white, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that she wasn’t just not-white (not entirely white, as Javier had explained to him while drinking on the evening he and John had brought her back to camp), she was half native American, like him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When he learned this, he immediately had dozens of questions. Did she have a tribe? Did she grow up with them? Had she been able to experience her people’s ways? If so, what had that been like? Charles wasn’t generally the curious type, but he always searched for ways to connect with his people, even if he didn’t exactly know what that meant for him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The other potential cause for a bit of shyness was the fact that she was actually quite pretty. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected her to be pretty, it was just that he had sort of imagined her to be big and scary looking, based on all the stories he’d heard. Whatever idiot man said that rough-and-tough women couldn’t also be pretty clearly hadn’t met Winona.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She had skin that reminded him of desert sands, a long, narrow nose, and a narrow face with very pronounced cheekbones and a pointed chin. A tangled, bite-mark scar sat just below her lower lip. Something had tried to eat her at some point in time. Her almond eyes were a startling pale blue-gray and seemed to bore straight through him. Her sleek black hair was long and wavy, and she left it loose and flowing more often than she tied it up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was also tiny, at least, compared to what Charles had imagined. She barely came up to his chin and she was skinny as a twig. She must have been deceptively strong, though, because the meat she did have on her bones was all muscle she’d built up through a life of rough living.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello,” she said in a monotone, low and raspy drawl which conveyed absolutely no emotion.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charles hesitantly sat across from her, mainly because that had been his destination in the first place and he’d rather sit there than around the campfire with a drunk Swanson and Uncle or at the other table with Micah who always found a way to ruffle his feathers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Winona downed the last of her coffee and left without a word. She disappeared into the camp, off to struggle with some other chore, evidently. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t think she likes me,” Charles spoke plainly. He liked John, so he saw no reason not to speak to him about it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>John laughed loudly, “Don’t worry, that’s just how she is with strangers. That was considerably friendlier than when she met Micah.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charles managed a chuckle, “If that's her being friendly, I hate to think of what she’s like when she’s unfriendly.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It ain’t pretty, I’ll tell ya that,” John smiled warmly. “Give it time, she’ll warm up to ya. I have a feeling that you two will get along pretty well.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles had begun to settle into a routine at Horseshoe Overlook. He got up early, enjoyed a cup of coffee, did a few chores, then hunted or robbed someone or ran errands, or did whatever else needed to be done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This routine just so happened to coincide with Winona’s routine. It was entirely coincidental. Winona got up even earlier than Charles did, most days. She had her own tent at the edge of camp, near the scout's fire. Sometimes, if he sat there in the evenings and crafted, he could hear her softly singing to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most mornings, Charles woke up, got his coffee, and saw her chopping firewood or feeding the horses or moving sacks of food for Pearson. Early in the morning, she was significantly more relaxed and friendly. She would grab her own coffee after completing her morning tasks. They’d developed a habit of sitting at the edge of the overlook in the mornings, talking softly while they sipped their warm drinks, or just taking in the view while enjoying each other's company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was on these quiet mornings that Charles really began to get to know Winona. It was during these talks that Charles learned what was important to her. She always spoke lovingly about most of the members of the gang (although she had yet to say anything nice about Micah) and what they were up to. She talked about the area they were in, as she had spent a great deal of her time recently exploring it. She told him about animals she’d encountered while hunting and how jobs she’d been working on had gone. In turn, Charles shared the details of his own activities. He spoke about his own hunts and jobs. He shared his feelings about various members of the gang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had not, however, discussed anything truly personal. Charles had had more than a few discussions about his life before the gang with Arthur and Lenny and sometimes even Javier or John. He spoke deeply with Arthur fairly frequently. But both he and Winona seemed to be anxious about revealing too much of themselves to each other. They both had stoic exteriors and they had both let down their walls momentarily when Sean had been rescued, during their slightly drunken dance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles recalled, with a great deal of warmth, their somewhat awkward slow dance and the way she giggled and blushed. He had never seen her blush before and he found it rather cute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was certain that he would never have even considered asking her to dance if he had been sober and she probably wouldn’t have accepted had she been sober. He didn’t regret it and he didn’t think she did either. But he kept going back to it in his mind for some reason. It was just a dance, after all. Why did it matter so much?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of the rare mornings he and Winona did not spend together. She was off sniffing out some lead. Charles found himself feeling strangely lonely while he drank his coffee. It wasn’t a big deal, but here he was, thinking about it anyway. He was not usually so… attached, even to people he cared about. He got on just fine on his own and loneliness was not something he frequently experienced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charles,” Dutch called, waving him over to his tent. Javier was already there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles stood and went to them. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you and Javier to go find Winona in town,” Dutch explained. “Apparently she’s got something going there and she needs a couple of extra hands, stealthy ones, preferably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Charles said. “I’m ready to go if you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, let’s go,” Javier grinned, beckoning him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They mounted their horses and set a steady pace towards town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think Winona has planned?” Charles wondered aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Javier chuckled. “She’s real clever, so I’d guess it’s something no one else would think of. If she wanted someone stealthy, we’ll probably be sneaking around. Maybe she’s got a heist planned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A heist?” Charles hadn’t expected anything like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she’s been known to do a few of those every once in a while. She’s one of the only people we know who can get in and out of places without being noticed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made a lot of sense. Charles was stealthy but he was also a large man and that made his hiding choices fairly limited. Winona was nearly half his size. She could probably hide anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One time, Winona and I were on a home robbery job,” Javier said, a broad smile on his face. “Place was supposed to be empty. All the inhabitants were out. So we go in and we’re grabbing everything we can, having a field day, ya know. Anyway, we hear the front door open and people come in and we have like four seconds to get out of sight. I hid under a bed and I had no idea where she was. After a few minutes, they leave again, must have forgot something. I couldn’t find her anywhere, though. I start to panic and then I hear something muffled from one of the rooms. She managed to hide in some trunk. Would’ve been perfect, ‘cept it latched from the outside and she couldn’t get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles laughed. “Must be convenient, being so small.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be,” Javier agreed with a sharp chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slowed down as they came into town. The smell of sheep hit Charles’ nose and he scrunched up his face instinctively.  He hadn’t been back since the big fight in the saloon. He didn’t think Javier had either. Winona had teased him a little about the whole ordeal. It seemed that, aside from Arthur, she was the only person friendly enough with him to tease him, and Arthur couldn’t really because he’d also been in the fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is she, anyway?” Javier was searching around, trying to spot Sable among a town full of similar-looking horses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles shrugged. “Saloon maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The saloon closed for repairs after we trashed it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's a second one,” Charles said, pointing to it. “It’s smaller.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shittier and full of O’Driscolls</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as Winona had described it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, Sable, or a horse that looked a hell of a lot like Sable, was hitched outside the saloon. He whinnied at Taima and Boaz. Charles had noticed that Sable was a very friendly horse, especially with other horses. He was talkative and frequently made noises at both human and horse alike, but he wouldn’t let anyone but Winona ride him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Javier and Charles hitched up and went inside. Winona was at a corner table, her back to the door, talking with a man who looked far too rich to be in Valentine over a beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winona,” Javier greeted, patting her on the shoulder as she looked up. “It’s a bit early in the morning to be drinking, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never too early, my friend,” Winona grinned. “Hello, Charles.” She gave him a friendly nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are these men?” The rich guy asked suspiciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are business associates of mine,” Winona said in a voice that was just slightly different from the normal way she spoke. It was slower and clearer, the word business carefully emphasized. “They’re going to be helping me take care of your little problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we trust them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, I would put my life in their hands. They’ll get the job done and they’ll do it right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” the man said, but he was still eyeing them carefully. “Well, I’d better get going. You’re clear on the details, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Winona smiled sweetly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the meeting point, once it’s all done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’ll be there, package in hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good. Well, goodbye.” The man stood and awkwardly waved a goodbye at them, looking sweaty, flustered, and undoubtedly out of place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Loba,” Javier chuckled, shaking his head. “What have you got planned for that poor man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh nothing,” Winona batted her eyes innocently. “Just a little criminal activity in his name, and when he’s no longer useful to me, I’ll rob him blind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what if he sets the law on you?” Javier asked, eyebrows raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona stood and began leading them out of the saloon. “Oh, he’s just as guilty as I am in these pursuits. He’ll keep quiet to protect his own ass. Besides, even if he talks, well, if things go the way Dutch says they will, we’ll be long gone by then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles heard the hesitant </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Was Winona doubting Dutch? If she was, it didn’t bode well. Charles had always thought that Winona’s faith in Dutch, along with Arthur, John, Hosea, and even Bill and Javier, was unshakable. Perhaps Blackwater had done more than just set them back. Perhaps it had shaken loose feelings and fears that once seemed unimaginable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so, Loba,” Javier rolled his eyes, but Charles thought he believed her. Everyone in this gang had faith in each other as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles had run with a few gangs before, for small periods of time, but this one was different. They were more than a gang, they were a family. They were a group of outcasts, outsiders, and outlaws, and they were searching desperately for a better life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on boys, we’d better get going.” Winona mounted Sable. “We got a little bit of a ride ahead of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watched the house for hours. Charles had wondered if it just felt like hours, but a quick glance at the position of the sun and a look at Javier’s pocket watch told him it had actually been hours. Winona insisted on waiting until nightfall. The house itself, a manor owned by a few “rich tits”, as Winona described them, who’d pissed off Winona’s equally rich client, was basically uninhabited at this point in time. It was their summer home, and they wouldn’t be around for another month at least. There was, however, a winter caretaker on the property. Winona had been here a few times prior, to case the area, and she had noted that the caretaker was usually passed out drunk in his own, significantly smaller cabin on the edge of the property by nightfall, leaving the house sitting empty and easy to rob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their primary goal was some incredibly rare and expensive brooch that Winona’s contact claimed had been stolen from him. He was apparently willing to pay a lot to get it back, and he had no qualms if they robbed the owners blind in the process. The goal was to make it look like a random robbery, after all, so no one would suspect he was involved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed too perfect. Perhaps that was why Winona had brought Charles and Javier along. She could easily have done it on her own, but she’d have a higher chance of making it out of a set up alive if she had a few guns backing her up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona would look at the property through her binoculars every so often, keeping an eye on the caretaker mostly. Then she would slump back against the rock they were all crouched behind. Javier had elected to take a nap. Winona had even dozed a little, her hat over her face, left hand resting on her shotgun, just in case. Charles, however, remained wide awake. He knew he wouldn’t get much sleep that night. They had to wait until nightfall and it was a long ride back to Horseshoe as it was. Besides, Charles had already decided he would accompany Winona to meet the contact after the job was done, which would make the night even longer. If it was a setup, they could strike at any time. He should rest now, while he had the chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t rest. Night came, although it felt like it took far too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Winona hissed excitedly. “See that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was looking through her binoculars but Charles didn’t need them to see what she was talking about. The man who’d been lumbering around the property all day, presumably the caretaker, was stumbling towards his cabin, bottle in his hand. He looked like he couldn’t even stand right and Charles reckoned they could rob that house right in front of the man and he wouldn’t do a thing about it, much less remember it in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cabin door closed behind him. They waited an extra fifteenish minutes, just to be sure. Then they moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Javier and Charles covered the first floor, quickly searching through drawers, wardrobes, and cabinets. Charles kept an eye on the caretaker's cabin, ready to sound the alarm to hide if needed. Winona was upstairs, but Charles wouldn’t have been able to tell if he hadn’t seen her go up. She was silent. No creaks of old floorboards or rusty squeals of doors or even the light padding sound of her boots on the wood. She was totally silent. It was impressive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles pocketed almost anything shiny. Winona probably already had a fence in mind, knowing her. She planned her jobs down to the last detail, which was more than could be said for most of the gang, even Dutch. She tried to plan for every contingency or at least every contingency she could think of. Doing a job with Winona was far less likely to end in a hail of gunfire or a pile of dead bodies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s taking too long up there,” Javier commented, startling Charles out of his thoughts. “She should be done by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only been a few minutes. You keep an eye on the caretaker's cabin, I’ll go see if there’s any trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was trouble, but not the sort Javier was afraid of. The trouble was that Winona couldn’t get into the attic. Charles found her fruitlessly attempting to push the attic door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s jammed,” she explained through gritted teeth. “There’s something on top of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, but I’m worried that someone may be up there, maybe locked themself in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone- I thought the caretaker was the only person on the property.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona sighed in frustration. “So did I. Come on, I have an idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She went downstairs, boots making almost no sound against the wood. Javier saw them, sighed in relief, then saw the look on Winona’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the trouble?” Hee asked immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brooch is in the attic, but the door is jammed shut. I have an idea.” She didn’t slow down, not even a little bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The went outside and Winona circled around to the backside of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See that window?” She said, pointing to a window that could have only been an attic window. It was three stories up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Javier looked at it suspiciously. “I don’t think I like where this is going. Why can’t you just force the door open?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because there’s something heavy on top of it that might make a loud noise if I do, and someone may be up there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So breaking in through the attic window is a better idea? How the hell are you even gonna get up there, Loba?” Javier glared at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned and pointed to a tree. It was a big, old tree with lots of branches snarling around, one of which, a narrow, thin one, came very close to the attic window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Javier sighed, but he knew she was right. They needed that brooch and that tree was the best way to get it. “Let me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Javier, I’m the smallest. I can fit through that window and I have the best chance of not breaking the branch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if you fall? Or the branch breaks?” Charles asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged, “Try to catch me? I dunno, hopefully, that won’t happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t wait for them to agree to the plan. She just started to climb. Charles watched her anxiously. She was right that Charles would certainly break the branch and there was no way he’d fit, and Javier was only slightly more likely to succeed, but he still would have preferred to be the one climbing that tree and vaulting into a possible trap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A trap. The thought made Charles’ breath catch in his throat. What if it was a trap? Winona would be walking right into it and there would only be so much Javier and Charles could do from where they were. There had to be someone up there. There was no way someone had managed to put something heavy over top of that door from the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona made it to the branch. She tried to put as little of her weight on it as she could, but it still creaked underneath her. Charles felt a pang of anxiety in his chest. He glanced over at Javier, who was watching her unblinkingly and biting his lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She inched out a little further, no donut considering her other escape plans if the branch did break. There was a crack and Winona lept from the branch and hit the side of the house as the branch snapped and gave out. Charles could almost see her bouncing off and falling, not to her death but certainly to a few broken bones and perhaps a concussion. But she didn’t fall. She barely managed to keep hold of the window sill and she flashed them what was probably meant to be a cocky grin but came off as a sort of anxious smile. She was as worried as them. Good. She was the one actually risking her hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a little bit of finagling and a fair bit of time, but Winona managed to get the window open just wide enough that she could crawl through. She disappeared through the opening and Charles and Javier tensed, listening for anything. There was a vague thump, then total silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, Winona appeared around the corner of the house, grinning madly and holding something shiny. Charles and Javier exhaled at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Loba, what happened up there? Was someone there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Gardner. He was mostly asleep, but I knocked him out just to be safe. Don’t know why he was here, though. He doesn’t live on the property, far as I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it a setup?” Charles frowned. If it was, it didn’t bode well for Winona’s contact. She looked mildly annoyed which could only mean she was furious. She didn’t usually let much emotion show on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, but I will certainly be bringing it up to our friend. Let's get out of here.” They made it back to the horses and mounted up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you two back at camp,” Winona smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go with you,” Charles said. “To meet the contact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Javier looked at him, either confused or suspicious or both. Why would he be suspicious?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this was a possible set up, the meeting might be, too.” Charles flexed the tension out of his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough,” Winona said. “Let's move then. See you later, Javier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Javier hesitated a moment, then he smiled. “Alright. Be careful. See you later.” He took off, vanishing among the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winona took off in the opposite direction, looking back to see if Charles was following. He was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” she began when he caught up with her, then she hesitated as if she wasn’t sure what to say next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” Charles raised an eyebrow at her. She was searching for the words she wanted to say, but they didn’t seem to be coming easily to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what happened to your tribe?” Charles didn’t think the question was what she had originally wanted to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m not sure if I have one. I know my family and I lived with one when I was young, but I don’t remember any of it very clearly. What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. “Most of my people were killed or put on reservations before I was even born. A few of us tried to evade the government, live free somewhere else, but it didn’t really work out for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t right,” Charles said softly, feeling a wave of familiar anger fill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it isn’t,” Winona agreed, but she looked sadder than anything else. “My people believed in something called the Wankan Tanka. I think the missionaries thought that meant God, but the Wankan Tanka isn’t God. It's more like, I don’t know, the universe. The Great Mystery, that’s what my mama called it in English. She told me that everything, the sun and moon, and stars, the trees and rivers, and lakes, the rocks, and stones beneath our feet, they all have souls just like us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles nodded. “I think that's what my mother told me, but she was taken by soldiers when I was very young. I don’t really remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Winona said, and he could tell she meant it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, it’s alright,” Charles smiled, although it took some effort. “What happened to your mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes darkened immediately and Charles suddenly regretted asking. “She uh… well, she died. I was still a kid. She and a few remaining members of the tribe, they tried to go elsewhere, to keep our traditions and beliefs alive without the influence of the white man, you know? Anyway, a few soldiers got very drunk one night and stumbled onto our camp. I guess killing savages seemed like a fun sport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles inhaled, fury and pity filling him at once. “Winona, I-,” he started, then realized nothing he could say would feel adequate. “Sorry just doesn’t seem like enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” she smiled softly. “It’s all a long time ago now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t make it right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rode in silence the rest of the way. Charles wondered if he’d gone too far, asked too many questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meeting with the contact went smoothly. Charles stayed hidden in the trees while Winona traded the brooch for the money. No law appeared, but Winona had some very choice words about the possibility of a setup. It was unclear if she would work for him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they left, they doubled back a few times, just to be sure they weren’t being followed. The night's events had left them ever-so-slightly paranoid. It wasn’t until they were safely home that Charles realized how utterly exhausted he was. It was nearly dawn by then and he passed out almost immediately after Winona bid him goodnight.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>